


Make Me

by negansdirtygirl22



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Choking, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Light Dom/sub, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Power Dynamics, Rough Sex, Shameless Smut, Spanking, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-12-07 18:54:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20980721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/negansdirtygirl22/pseuds/negansdirtygirl22
Summary: You’re Hawkins’ finest prosecutor, smart and resourceful, beautiful and cunning. With most of your time spent at the station, butting heads with the Chief of police, what happens when all that tension comes to a head?





	Make Me

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo this has been in the works for a really really long time, but it’s finally done and just in time to post in celebration of hitting 500 followers on Tumblr! Thank you so much to everyone who has followed, read, and supported my writing! This was originally a request I received back in January! It was right up my alley and was super fun to write. I took the idea and ran with it, making the reader a lawyer in this case. You get that playful back and forth banter and confrontation as well as some hostility that ultimately leads to banging each others brains out.   
As always, feedback and kudos are greatly appreciated!

It was getting late, you could always tell by the wave of soreness that crept it’s way through your body at this hour. The combination of your horrible posture and the lack of sleep only exacerbating the achy feeling. Glancing over at the clock, you realized you’d been at it the entire day. The sun had gone down hours ago and you were, once again, left alone in a darkened office. 

You let out an exhausted sigh, slamming the last file of the night down onto the messy desk before you. Manila folders and loose documents were scattered haphazardly across the littered surface, joining the numerous lipstick-stained cups and empty takeout containers. You wore the hectic clutter like a badge of honor, feeling it reflected the persistence and dedication you put into your work. 

Your eyes felt heavy, having spent countless hours glossing over police reports and criminal records for yet another case you were certain to win. How could you not when you were the best damn prosecutor in that law firm, possibly in all of Hawkins. Sure, the cases were smaller compared to those in bigger cities, and maybe your ferocious passion and unyielding tenacity had a reputation for intimidating your peers— so what? The legal world was cold and ruthless bitch and so were you. You couldn’t be bothered with the fragile egos of mediocre men, or worse, let it deter you from winning cases tooth and nail. 

Deciding to call it a night, you carefully organized the borrowed stack of files, packing them neatly into your briefcase— returning them gave you the perfect excuse to revisit the police station in the morning. Although, you hardly needed an excuse when you spent more time there than in your own office— and if you were being honest with yourself, it wasn’t just for the files. 

You’d been a regular at Hawkins PD from the inception of your career, preferring to build your cases there and away from the prying eyes of your colleagues. Before long, your charismatic demeanor had won everyone over at the station. They took you right in, accepting you as one of their own, even though you weren’t on the force. You had complete access to their records and their full support in every case you took. Flo had become somewhat of a maternal figure in your life— nurturing and protecting you, sometimes to a fault. Callahan and Powell never failed to make you laugh with their banter, even asking you to take sides in their friendly disputes from time to time. But despite the warm little family you’d become a part of, it was really your piqued interactions with the Chief that had you making excuses to go back time and time again.

Hopper had a way of getting under your skin, always armed with a smart ass remark for you to deflect with your superior intellect. He was as boorish and stubborn as he was attractive— you were especially a fan of that perfectly tailored uniform of his. The way it hugged him in all the right places, accentuating all the broad contours of his body. Your eyes couldn’t help but to shamelessly wander up and down his rugged form, not caring if he caught you gawking. God knows you’d caught him looking at you with the same hunger in his eyes more times than you could count. 

The dynamic between you and Hopper could best be described as tense. You were both combative by nature, pushing each other’s buttons until the other would snap or relent. The thing was, neither of you ever did, leaving a sense of unresolved tension, thick and ripe and always on the cusp of combustion. You weren’t sure if you wanted to punch him or fuck him half the time you were together, but you just couldn’t stay away. 

The next morning you walked into the station dressed to kill, your high heels clinking loudly against the linoleum floors, alerting everyone of your punctual arrival. 

“Good morning, Flo,” you greeted the matronly woman at the front desk with a smile, rounding the corner to give her a warm embrace. 

“Back for more so soon, dear?” She perceptively inquired, glancing down at your briefcase then back at you with suspicion. 

You laughed nervously as you discreetly scanned around the bullpen, feeling relieved when you found only Callahan and Powell wrapped up in their usual card game. Though the relief was short lived as you began to feel a twinge of disappointment settle in. Part of you had hoped to find Hopper there as well, not that you’d never admit that out loud.

“You know me too well,” you awkwardly deflected. 

Flo gave you a knowing grin, leaning in to whisper in your ear. 

“Go on ahead, dear. He’s not here yet,” she divulged, giving your shoulder a supportive pat and dismissing you to your work. 

You scurried away toward the file cabinets, trying your best to hide the blush that had risen to your cheeks. You weren’t sure why you allowed yourself to become so flustered over a man, but you couldn’t exactly deny the effect Hopper had on you. You wondered if you’d made such an impression on him as well. 

As you bent over to replace the old files and begin the search for new ones, you heard a familiar set of heavy footsteps approach you. They came to a halt as the man behind them leaned against the file cabinet, sternly gazing down at you. 

“What have I told you about coming in here and rummaging through things like you own the damn place?” His gruff voice spoke, hoping to antagonize you into an argument you’d probably win, like all the others before.

“Don’t you think it’s a little early for you to be obstructing justice, Hopper?” You smirked devilishly, bending over a touch lower just to torture him. 

He clenched his jaw, unable to tear his eyes away from you before clearing his throat to speak again. 

“Asking that you consult with me before coming into my station and taking my records is hardly an obstruction of-“ 

Hopper’s rant was swiftly cut off as Flo walked right past him to hand you a steaming cup of coffee, expertly prepared to your liking— a service not even he as Chief was afforded. 

He watched incredulously as the exchange between you and Flo unfolded. 

“Thank you SO much, Flo,” you smiled, mischievous eyes locked with his as you accepted the mug, taking a long exaggerated sip just to rub it in his face.

He stared back at you with a deadpan expression, waiting for you to finish. Getting a rise out of him was almost too easy sometimes. 

“Smile, Jim. You’ll look prettier,” you gibed, causing the room to burst into a fit of laughter at Hopper’s expense. 

“Unbelievable...” he mumbled to himself, retreating to his office to fester in peace— alone. 

It was always like this with the two of you. He couldn’t help but be an insufferable asshole and you never shied away from giving it right back to him. It was an intoxicating game of cat and mouse, both of you exchanging barbs and teasing each other without mercy. Every terse interaction only adding fuel to the fire. 

Truth be told, you drove the man wild. Something about seeing you at the station in those tight pencil skirts and low-cut blouses made him feel uneasy. You were an enigmatic siren, all beauty and brains with a cunning tongue that cut like a knife. He resented your visits at times, wishing he could go back to simpler days when you weren’t around to invade his every thought. When the distinct sound of your heels didn’t make his heart race faster than the slew of dirty thoughts of you spread out across his desk. 

Simply put, you were too good for the cursed man Hopper believed himself to be. He’d become more caustic and gruff in his interactions with you, hoping to push you away and rid himself of your alluring presence. It only served to enticed you more, stimulating your litigious mind to engage him further. He should have known better than to try arguing with a lawyer, especially one as resolute as yourself. The only sensible solution was to isolate himself in his office. Avoid you at all costs, even when every cell in his body screamed at him to disobey— to go talk to you like a real man instead of hiding out like a damn coward. 

Hours passed and the station began to clear out for the evening, Hopper remaining holed up in his office like a hermit. You wondered what he was doing in there so long, almost knocking on his door once or twice before losing the courage. It was unlike him to be so distant and you were only lingering to see if he would emerge. 

After idly wasting more time, you noticed everyone had gone home, leaving you and Hopper alone in the station. You began gathering your things in preparation to leave but felt wrong going without at least making sure he was okay. You and your bleeding heart.

You stood poised at his door, hoping he’d be in an agreeable mood for once as you braced your knuckles to knock. 

“Hopper, can I come in?” You meekly asked, hating how timid you sounded in contrast to your usually confident demeanor.

“Maybe. What do you want?” He bluntly remarked, no doubt scowling on the other side of the threshold. 

You rolled your eyes and opened the door anyway, not caring to further entertain his moody antics. 

“Why do you have to be such an asshole all the time?” 

“If you don’t like it, there’s the door,” he dismissively answered, heavy eyes glued to his desk. 

His acrid words stung deep. There you were, standing in his office, genuinely feeling sorry for him and he couldn’t even be bothered to look you in the eyes? 

Not acceptable. 

You paced further into the room, stopping right in front of his desk and angrily slammed your palm against the wooden surface.

“You know what? You can go straight to hell, Jim Hopper! I came in here because I actually worried about you!” 

You had his full attention now. He hadn’t expected for you to react so lividly, least of all admit that you actually worried about him— but why would you?

“Yeah, well I don’t need your worry and I certainly don’t need you hanging ‘round here all the goddamn time,” he lied through his teeth, feeling like a bastard when your confidence wilted for a fleeting moment. 

You considered walking away, sparing yourself the heartache and disappointment, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Instead, you marched yourself around the desk and got right in Hopper’s face. 

“Are you this threatened by all strong women or is it just me you can’t handle?” 

He scoffed with condescension, appearing slightly amused by your outburst. 

“Oh, I could handle you no problem, sweetheart,” he contested, sitting upright and cocking his brow, a smug grin tugging at his sinful lips.

He truly was an insufferable asshole, a big, stupid, unfairly handsome asshole. His words should have pissed you off. They should have instigated an explosive argument, but instead they turned you on. Your body betraying you as heat pooled between your thighs at the sight of his knowing grin. God, were you really that weak or were your feelings for Hopper stronger than you let on? 

“I don’t think you’re man enough,” you provoked, pressing an accusatory finger firmly into his chest. 

“I’d watch how you speak to me,” he seethed, nostrils flaring and lips pressed in a firm line as he caught your offending wrist in his hand, holding it with bruising pressure, warning to choose your next words wisely. 

The sudden contact shook your senses, the searing heat of his palm radiating up your arm, making you crave that touch in places less demure. What those big hands could do, the pleasure they could wring from your body. 

“Yeah? Why don’t you make me,” you challenged, waiting with bated breath for his response.

You could see the internal conflict written all over his face, his usually stoic features faltering, his hand still gripping your wrist firmly, holding it against his heaving chest. Your own breaths were shallow, your heart racing as he stood to tower over you. You closed the limited space between you, pressing yourself against his body like a brand, neck craned to look him dead in the eyes. 

“I said make me, Hopper.”

All the built up tension came to a head as his lips fiercely captured yours. It was a primal culmination of all the unrequited looks from across the bullpen, all the frustration laced arguments that left your blood boiling and body starved for him. You pulled him down harder, tugging the hair at the base of his nape as you both fought for dominance in the fervid kiss. 

Hands grasped and pulled in maddening desperation, seeking purchase wherever would elicit the loudest moans from the other. He ripped open your blouse, sending buttons flying across his office, lost and forgotten as his hands quickly found your breasts. The sinful contrast of rough palms against the silken lace of your bra had you arching into his touch, a cadence of soft moans leaving your lips when he pinched your nipples through the lustrous fabric.

Your hands moved down the expanse of his chest, eyes flickering between his prominent bulge and darkening gaze as your fingers traced along the etchings of his badge with curious intent. He lurched forward when you began palming him through his pants, dropping his head to your shoulder with a resounding groan. The simple yet guttural sound caused your own breath to hitch, goosebumps forming over your skin from the huff of air as it fanned across your balmy neck. You needed more— you needed him. To hear him, feel him, taste him until all your senses were sated, if that were even possible. 

You made quick work unbuckling his belt and pants, opening them enough to get your hand down and wrapped around his thick cock. He rutted against your ministrations, more sinful sounds leaving his lips as your hand slowly stroked him from base to tip, your own arousal growing palpable— unbearable. 

“Turn around,” he commanded, his voice husky and dark, almost malicious in its inflection. 

You refused to obey, gripping him harder in your palm, your thumb languidly rolling over the rogue drop of precum leaking from his tip. 

“Make me,” you blatantly defied, the control you had over him all too consuming to relinquish without putting up a fight. 

Growing tired of your unwillingness to yield Hopper took matters into his own hands, exerting his own brand of control as he harshly spun your body around to bend you over his desk. 

“I said turn the fuck around!”

You gasped as your chest slammed against the hard surface, your hands splaying over scattered paperwork to brace your fall. You recalled all the times you’d imagined yourself in this compromising, yet willing predicament every time you stepped foot in his office. Wondering how far you’d have to push for it to becomes a reality— the irony of it being something as obvious as an argument not lost on you.

There was only a few moments of silence, the calm before the tempestuous storm looming in your horizon. Your heart beat in time with the ticking clock in an metronomic rhythm, ominously counting down the seconds that felt more like hours before Hopper would act. The anticipation made you delirious with need. 

“Jim, I—“ you attempted to speak, raising your head off the desk before it was roughly brought back down by his imposing palm.

He caressed your cheek as he held you in place, brushing away the loose strands of hair that obscured your face from his view— a brief diversion of gentleness you let yourself indulge in, knowing it wouldn’t last much longer. 

Hopper leaned over you, his full weight and cock pressing into your body, mouth ghosting over the shell of your ear as he spoke. 

“You know,” he began, letting his free hand leisurely trail down your back, following the delicate curve of your spine until it reached your ass. 

“I think it’s about fucking time you learn who’s in charge here.” 

You whimpered pathetically, a failed attempt at some witty retort that now eluded you. But Hopper knew better than to think he’d conquered you so effortlessly— nothing ever came that easy with you. 

Without warning, he slid his first two digits deep into your mouth, your eyes welling up with tears, throat burning up as you gagged around the forceful intrusion. 

“Keep that mouth busy,” he chuckled, low and arrogant. 

Your cheeks burned with humiliation, but you did as you were told, swirling your tongue around his girthy fingers, sucking them off as saliva dribbled down your chin. 

“That’s a good girl.”

The way he praised you with such wolffish predation made you clench your thighs together, feeling the wetness gush from within your folds. 

You continued lavishing his fingers, stopping only when you felt the hand on your lower back yank your skirt up and over your ass. 

“Fuck me,” was all Hopper could muster, his cock twitching insatiably at the sight before him. He withdrew his digits from your mouth, stepping away from you to get a better view. 

You were absolutely soaked, inner thighs glossy with your arousal and your gorgeous lace covered ass presented on full display for him. 

“Take them off,” he dictated, his volatile stare fixed on you. 

You’d gotten so lost in the darkening rims of his irises, a torrential sea of blue swallowing you whole to the point that you neglected to respond to his command— let alone hear it. 

“Take them off,” he hissed, more sinister this time, as if to warn you that he would not repeat himself. 

The heady contrast of his unbridled masculinity against your own femininity was intoxicating. You’d never felt so eager to acquiesce to the needs of a man in your life, to be willfully dominated and told what to do. Every order he commanded, the power in his stance as he watched you intently, even the very uniform he wore; it was all a flex on his authority as chief— on his authority over you. 

Still bent over, you reached behind, hooking your fingers into the lacy hem of your panties and worked them down your thighs until they met the floor. He approached you once more, reaching out to grope your bare ass, lewdly kneading the plump flesh with his coarse hands. You drew your lower lip between you teeth to stifle your wanton moans, not yet willing to admit how much his crudeness was affecting you— but he knew. The unmistakable evidence of your desire for him was all over your panties, dripping from your very cunt. 

The palpable silence was swiftly broken when he delivered a searing smack to your ass, the jolt of it knocking the air from your lungs.

“Day after day, you come into my station and bust my balls,” he began, massaging the reddened patch of skin with the same gentle reverence as handling porcelain. 

“You come in here and make my life a living hell,” he husked, hand and voice becoming heavier. 

“Do you know why I had to keep myself locked in this office all goddamn day?” 

He let his fingers dip down between your slick folds, the friction delicious against the sensitized flesh that was screaming to be touched. You became lost in the pleasurable sensation, bucking your hips backward into his hand, greedy with lust, aching for more. 

“I asked you a question, sweetheart” he badgered, punctuating the statement with another solid slap. 

The pain was blinding, racing through your extremities like currents of electricity, the prickling of pins and needles following as your raw neurons slowly recovered. 

“Because you’re too scared to take what you want,” you sassed, your voice a hoarse whisper. 

He bit back a smile— that fucking mouth of yours just didn’t know when to quit, but goddamn if it didn’t get him hard. 

He let his hand glide back down between the apex of your thighs— your reward for complying— his fingers pressing into you so suddenly your body arched off the desk. 

“Not so mouthy now, are we?” He teased, knuckles deep inside your cunt, his torturous rhythm building up steam with every drag of his thick fingers. 

He wasn’t wrong, that bastard, your capacity for words was long gone, your mind numb and muscles contracting as he hit places inside you no other man had been able to reach before. 

“Fuck, don’t stop,” you cried out, feeling the unmistakable bloom of pressure in your lower abdomen growing stronger— imminent. 

Hopper considered stopping, denying you altogether simply because he could, but he was too far gone himself. 

“Hopper, please... I need you.” 

Lost in the way you called his name, he dropped to his knees with a growl, spreading your legs to ravage you from behind like an animal starved. There was something feral and depraved about the moment, almost taboo, and you let it consume you entirely. You arched your ass in response, reaching back to grip his scalp, his scorching tongue pressing into you deeper, lapping and swirling at your throbbing clit, dipping in to taste your essence.

It was good, it was so so good. The dull burn of his beard against tender flesh, the way he moaned low and deep, contrasting with the obscenely wet sounds as he feasted on you. Every single cell was pushed to its limits, the white hot pleasure reaching its blinding peak within you. A deafening rush of blood flushed your face, muffling your hearing to a distant hum, your body taut as he doubled his efforts to push you over the edge. 

You cried out, guttural and incoherent, both hands tethered to the desk in an ironclad grip as your orgasm ripped through you with precipitous force. Hopper took his time to savor every last drop of pleasure you had to give until your body went limp, a breathy moan wordlessly leaving your lips. 

He stood proudly, rising to his full stature, beard glossy with your release and cock painfully strained in the confines of his pants. It was a look that made you go weak in the knees, making your brain regress back to its most basic primal instincts, needing to claim all that man for yourself. 

“Fuck me, Hopper. Make me fucking scream,” you demanded, heavy lidded eyes locked with his, your voice dripping with desire, thick with lust. 

He shot you a cocksure grin, letting his pants fall unceremoniously to the floor, cock hard and heavy in his palm as he lined himself up with your glistening cunt. 

“Careful what you wish for, sweetheart,” he graveled, pushing into in you in a single merciless thrust that left you breathless.

He spared no time in setting a bruising pace, wrapping his hand around your throat for leverage, desperation getting the better of him. 

“Fu...ck,” you choked out, your syllables and air supply cut off as every brutal snap of his hips jutted you further up the desk. 

“This what you want huh? For me to fuck that bratty little attitude out of you?” His voice strained as he spoke, pulling you up by the neck to hold you flush against his broad chest. 

“Answer me when I speak to you,” he growled, his grip on your throat becoming more possessive, teeth grazing your pulse. 

“Maybe,” you rasped, mouth curving into a defiant smirk. 

You were taunting him, waving that bright crimson cape at the raging bull with all too much pleasure. Hoping to elicit a physical response, to unleash all the pent up tension between you until there was none left to bare.

It drove him to fuck you harder, faster, cupping your jaw to turn your head toward his, swallowing your moans in a heated kiss. You felt his other hand sink between your thighs, coarse fingers pressing down and rubbing tight circles around your clit, desperate to have you falling over the edge with him. He needed your body to validate his claim over you, to say the words neither of you dared to speak. 

It wasn’t long before you came hard, muscles fluttering wildly around his cock, his name falling from your lips like a prayer and a curse all in one. There was something reverent in the way he held your body, whispering sweet praises in your ear as you brought him down with you, hot and thick. 

In your exertion, you collapsed back onto the cool surface of the desk, completely spent and satisfied. Hopper trailed his mouth along your sweat slicked back, tasting the salt on your skin as he kissed his way up your shoulders and neck. You breathed in deeply, enjoying the surge of oxytocin as it put you in a trance-like state of euphoria. It wasn’t until Hopper pulled out, letting his cum drip down your thighs, that you rose from the dead, turning to face him. 

He looked softer than you remembered, happier even, the sight of him making you smile as you watched him dress.

“You know, that uniform of yours should be a crime, Chief,” you softly lilted, drawing him out of his own daze and toward you. 

He approached the desk, caging you in within his strong arms as he took in this new version of you— flushed and disheveled— never before seen by him. There was a pang of guilt, seeded deep within his gut as his eyes met the red markings over your throat. He pressed his fingers against the angry splotches of delicate flesh, brows knitting together and a glimmer of regret in his blue eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” he began, letting his hand linger near the hollow of your throat. 

“Don’t be, I’m certainly not sorry,” you gleamed, placing your lithe hand over his. “I wanted this, Jim, I’ve wanted you,” you admitted, earnest and free of pretension.

There was a beat of silence, his face becoming unreadable and impassive, dejection sweeping over you like a veil of insecurity. Then right as you paled, mentally preparing yourself to be crushed, he tilted your chin up, ghosting his lips over yours in the promise of a kiss. 

“Damn, and here I thought I’d gotten rid of you for good,” he cruelly broke through the silence, letting his head fall back in laughter. 

“You’re such in insufferable asshole, Hopper. I swear to god—“ 

Before you could finish, maybe even slap the shit out of him, he silenced you with his lips, kissing you into a stupor. 

“I’d watch how you speak to me, sweetheart.” 

Fisting the collar of his shirt, you pulled him down and wrapped your legs around his waist with a feisty grin. 

“Make me.”


End file.
